Barkni
by Xazz
Summary: Altair and Malik go to Turkey to kill on orders of the Brotherhood, it all goes exactly to plan, even if they do end up in the middle of a oil wrestling event to do it. -oneshot-


This chapter/story has been removed or edited because it contains mature material.

You can find the story/full unedited chapter on my AO3 under the name Xazz. Don't ask me what AO3 is. Just Google it.

* * *

Really he didn't know why they were here. Their Turkish brothers should be the ones on this hunt, not them. But the message had originally come in for a Syrian Assassin, despite the fact that they were closer to the Turkish border, practically in the country itself. It honestly mattered little to Altair, but he'd heard Malik complain enough about it on the road. He, wisely, just kept his mouth closed and didn't comment on it, knowing Malik wouldn't appreciate it.

Adana was a nice city though, he supposed, it was no Damascus, or even Aleppo, but it was nice. Their brothers there had welcomed them and the Dai was friendly, offering them beds in the back of the bureau. It was set up similarly to the ones in Syria, only the courtyard was not fully enclosed. Altair almost declined sleeping in the bureau until he'd seen Malik scowl at him. He didn't like sleeping in bureaus, he honestly preferred sleeping on the ground of their courtyards. Malik thought he was crazy to say no to a bed after a long ride from Masyaf.

Their target was a Turkish merchant who worked the slave trade. Slavery wasn't illegal, but he had a nasty habit of selling those with diseases and not telling people, so they died quickly. The Order had no qualm with him, but someone was angry and wanted him dead, so they paid the Order to do it for them.

He and Malik spent several days scouting the city and learning of their target. He was a fish of a man and Altair didn't like him one bit. Malik was indifferent, but Altair liked to know his targets, if he was going to put a knife through their neck he should at least know _something_ about them.

Their man liked watching sport, and there was a wrestling match coming up. Though neither he, nor Malik, knew exactly what that entailed, as they figured they'd strike then. A crowd of people, no one would ever know. The only problem was that it wasn't a public set of matches, it was invite only and they didn't have time to get or forge invitations (though Malik was a fair forger in his own right). Sneaking in was also nearly impossible as there were only two entrances and the walls around it were unclimbable. Altair had tried and if Altair couldn't climb them then Malik couldn't, as even Malik admitted Altair was better at climbing sheer surfaces than him.

Their host Dai offered a solution. They could get in by competing. The only problem was that neither of them really knew what the event was about beyond wrestling. Their host was good enough to inform them about Turkey's most popular sport; oil wrestling. It would be easy to get them in too since it was a starting event, there would be plenty of new comers. The Dai would set it up, they just had to do what they came to do. It was agreeable, so they laid low the last few days before the event.

The night before Altair and Malik were in the court yard behind the bureau. "How badly do you think we'll lose?" Altair asked as he was fiddling with one of his throwing knives.

"Huh?" Malik hadn't been paying attention, he was pouring over a journal he kept. Altair glanced at him from under his brows, his brother was looking at him quizzically.

"Tomorrow," he elaborated, "how badly do you think we'll lose?"

"You're actually thinking about that?" Malik huffed.

"Like it hasn't crossed your mind. You're too competitive to not," Altair's mouth twisted into a bit of a grimace for an instant.

"Well, it isn't as though our mission relies on if we win or not."

"Mm," he nodded.

"But, I wouldn't mind not losing the first round," and Altair chuckled. "If anyone will lose the first round though it would be you," Malik added with a smirk.

"Oh? And why would that be?" he growled.

"Look at you," Malik gestured to him.

"What about me?" he narrowed his eyes at Malik.

"You're skinny."

Altair looked down at himself, sure he was lithe, and most of his brothers had more weight on him to be sure. But he was fast, and plenty muscular. "There's nothing wrong with me," he stated.

"I didn't say there was. But you're skinny for a wrestler. Not to mention neither of us _are_ wrestlers," Malik scoffed. This was true, they were trained in hand to hand yes, but they were not wrestlers. They'd been trained in it briefly, mainly on how to get out of holds and locks, or how to quickly subdue someone if standard fighting holds didn't work, but that wasn't this. This oil wrestling was very different then that though.

"Watch me get further then you," Altair said with a smirk.

Malik narrowed his eyes at him, "Is that a challenge?" he asked.

"Yes," Altair said in what was to him was a cheerful voice but wasn't much beyond his usual flat. He knew Malik caught it though.

"I accept," Malik said fiercely. Altair grinned at him, one of his toothy ones that usually freaked people out. Malik just rolled his eyes at him and went back to his journal.

—

He always felt exposed when he wasn't in his hood. It wasn't that he was easy to read, but it was a safety blanket sort of thing and without it he felt like everyone was _staring at him_. That was of course stupid and not actually happening, but he still felt it.

Altair was also amazingly aware that he was one of the smaller men in the event. He was built for speed, not outmuscling an opponent. His best defense was just _not getting hit_ in the first place. Malik looked more like some of the men here, wider, obviously fit but with a significant more amount of weight to him then Altair. He wasn't _skinny_, he was just _so_ not meant to be a wrestler. There was a reason he had almost always lost when it came to grappling during hand to hand lessons as a novice.

Another of their brothers had come to help out, his name was Nadir and he was going to help them along so they didn't make total fools of themselves. And really they didn't so that was good.

Altair's first opponent was a big man with a fat face and Altair was positively _a stick_ next to him. Altair wasn't exactly impressed. "Hello little man," they said, though not insultingly, "Ready to show me your stomach?" okay now _that_ was an insult, and a bit of a low blow here.

Altair frowned at him, but didn't say anything. The judge watching their match told them to begin and the big man moved first, putting a meaty hand on his shoulder. He slipped right out of his grip thanks to the oil and was around behind him. He was compensating for the oil when he grabbed the other man by his kisbet as best he could and managed to unfoot him. The man grunted and when Altair flipped him managed to land on his stomach. He lost his grip soon after that though but didn't let that stop him and found the edges of the bottom of his kisbet and twisted. It didn't work as he planned and he ended up getting tackled.

Now Altair was the one being pinned and this was just _wonderful_. He wondered if he should just throw the match. Then he looked around to where Malik was having his match and saw his brother was _winning_. Fuck that last thought. Instead he just kept low to the ground, the bigger man tried to get a hold on him but when he moved Altair was able to slither out from under him, the benefits of being so much smaller, and then grabbed him again and managed to flip him over onto his back.

That was a lot harder and took a lot longer then Altair expected. Wonderful.

—

Altair managed to beat another pehlivan before facing Malik. He had a feeling it would end here though. Altair had beaten the last guy through a trick, though he hadn't known that, and it wouldn't work on Malik. Malik knew how he fought and was the guy when they were younger who would always beat Altair in their grapples and wrestling.

Malik smirked when he saw him, "How'd you get this far?" he asked teasingly.

"Little has it's benefits," Altair said blankly.

"I suppose it does," and he rubbed Altair's nearly bald head in a friendly manner. Their judge told them to start and Malik let him go. They didn't go for each other at first. They both knew the other, how they fought, their strengths and weaknesses. They moved around each other slowly, watching one another carefully. Altair saw Malik twitch and leaned back, avoiding a grab and taking a step back. "Oh c'mon Altair, neither of us will win if you just running away like a novice," he teased.

"Catch me then," Altair taunted back.

Wrong thing to say, because Malik did just that. He grabbed Altair but he managed to just barely slip away but not fully get free and they ended up holding onto each other, Altair keeping his hands on Malik's shoulders to keep him away, Malik clearly wanting to flip him. They stayed like that for a few moments till Malik tried to put his hands somewhere else and Altair slapped it away. Malik tried a few more times, no good before, as he did when he didn't get his way, he got frustrated, and pushed Altair away.

He took several steps back and wiped some sweat from his eyes, enough of a distraction for Malik to grab him and attempt to throw him down. He twisted around as he was headed for the ground and caught himself, his oil slicked body sliding on the grass before he came to a stop and twisted his legs out of Malik's grip, sitting on the grass, where it was harder to get a hold.

Malik plopped down behind him and Altair did his best to keep the other Assassin's hands off him. This went on for a while actually, Altair also slowly trying to scoot away from Malik. He wasn't doing a very good job at that though as Malik kept on top of him.

"You're just making this difficult," Malik grumbled, his forehead on the back of Altair's neck.

"I don't want to lose," Altair said.

"Does it really matter?" Malik asked softly. "Whoever loses gets to go kill our target."

"You just want to win," Altair muttered.

"Yeah kinda," he knew Malik was grinning though he couldn't see him. "Ganna throw it?"

"Go lick a foot Malik," he said, which wow? Really? He didn't realize how much of a dick he was till it was out of his mouth.

Malik, obviously, didn't appreciate the slur and tried to get Altair up so he could flip him. It didn't turn out to well for Malik though since they'd been at this for a while and it was hot out so they were hot, tired, oily, and sweaty on top of that and he couldn't get a grip on Altair's skin. Eventually a 'fuck you' switch went off for Malik and he jammed his hands down the front of Altair's kisbet and Altair felt himself being tugged off the ground. He quickly pulled Malik's hands out of his pants but the other Assassin was already trying to get a grip elsewhere, and his hand was sliding against his thigh, inside his kisbet again. God damnit he was _not_ enjoying this one bit honestly.

He had a moment to think 'oh shit' before Malik was standing and he was being flipped onto his back, Malik's hand sliding out of his pants as he did so. There was a bit of cheering when Malik won his match and the judge raised his hand above his head. Altair was still trying to get his wind back as Malik came over to him. "Don't look so damn smug," Altair groaned and rolled onto his front to push himself up.

"C'mon," and he clapped Altair on the back and led him back over to Nadir. "You go take out the target now."

"Alright," he grumbled and started to scrape all the oil off his body though he'd have to take a bath or something to get all of it off. Later. Once he was, mostly, oil free, he pulled a thobe over his head to cover himself over the kisbets and casually put a knife up his sleeve. "Should I wait for you when it's done?" Altair asked Malik.

Nadir answered for him however, "This could continue for a while, even when they find out what had happened. Or they may hold us here."

"I'll see you back at the bureau then," Altair said.

"Safety and peace brother," Malik said.

"Try not to lose the next round too badly," Altair smirked and then ducked out, pulling up the hood of his thobe up and feeling better for it. In the shapeless garment it was impossible to know he had a knife on him.

Between matches he and Malik had identified their target amid the spectators. He was on a raised platform, to better see the entertainment, with two guards at his back. He'd have to get around them, not difficult. He picked up a rock as he got closer and waited for the right moment before throwing it, hitting one the guards right in the head. Then he watched the matches still going on. The guard accused someone else of throwing the rock and very quickly it became an argument over who had and hadn't thrown the rock.

Altair slipped right past the bickering, behind the merchant who was watching the wrestling out on the field and with a cool efficiency of someone who'd done it far too often, cut open his throat. He was barely there long enough to bloody his feather before slipping back into the crowd. He was at one of the exits when the roar went out about that he'd been killed and then he sprinted past the men watching the exit and lost them in the twisted streets of Adana.


End file.
